


Still Thrives This Love

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff, Food, Happy Ending, Pining, Romance, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: Ellana Lavellan has a crush on the Inquisition's spymaster. But Leliana is not, apparently, receptive to her attentions whatsoever. What's a love-sick Inquisitor to do?M rating is for a somewhat-explicit love scene.





	Still Thrives This Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [love_coloured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_coloured/gifts).



> Dear love_coloured,
> 
> I hope you like this! I've also always wondered what would happen if Leliana was a potential love interest for the Inquisitor. She's one of my favourite characters, and I hope I've done her justice. I had a lot of fun writing this, and trying to come up with a decently subtle Lavellan. Happy Black Emporium!

Sometimes Ellana could scarcely believe what her life had become. She had never in her wildest fantasies imagined any of this happening to her, all this power, all this attention. All she had ever wanted for herself was to make her way quietly through the world, observing, contributing in what small ways she could to the security and prosperity of her clan and her people. And now, against all odds, she was the head of an outrageously powerful organization, her name and face known across southern Thedas. She was a _public figure._

If she resented this — the scrutiny, the responsibility, the authority suddenly thrust upon her —it was not as though being in the Inquisition lacked compensating perks. Surprisingly, associating with the people in the Inquisition turned out to be a fairly major perk.

Ellana had very quickly (and rather calculatedly) sought the society of those in the Inquisition who would be useful to her, and soon enough she had actually become friendly with several of them, even before the flight to Skyhold. If she _had_ to be shackled to this organization, it was good to have friends. Ellana even began seeking a few of them out, from time to time. She enjoyed Cullen’s camaraderie, his matter-of-fact conversation about martial matters. Although she found Cassandra to be rather prickly, she was good company, not needing to fill every moment with chatter. Varrick’s earthy personality and entertaining sense of humour were engaging enough to get her to join the larger group at the tavern, now and again. Experienced fighters like Blackwall and The Iron Bull were always good for a chat. And Ellana found herself, despite an initial aversion bordering on dislike, spending time with Josephine, even looking forward to their regular intervals where they sipped tea and chatted about matters both organizational and personal; the ambassador was friendly and even effusive without being demanding or meddlesome, a combination Ellana appreciated immensely.

Settled at Skyhold, Ellana found that she could easily slip in and out of the communal spaces, and seek out camaraderie or solitude as she pleased. …Well, there were exceptions. Her duties had certainly not decreased when she was named Inquisitor, and between wanting to do right by her companions and friends in the Inquisition and wanting to truly do the right thing — with the Inquisition that she now led, and with the strange power lodged in her left hand — Ellana duly showed up when her role required it.

But when she was not sitting in judgment or consulting at the War Table, and when she was not out on a mission, Ellana quite enjoyed being at Skyhold. She would frequently spend many hours roaming and observing. Habits left over from her days as a hunter for the Clan Lavellan… and, more recently, from her days as a spy. She had been selected to do reconnaissance on the Divine Conclave not only for her prowess in stalking prey in the forest, but also for her ability to move through human settlements almost without attracting attention. Ellana honestly thought the skill sets were two sides of the same coin. Either way, you were dealing with big animals who were dangerous or skittish or both. The trick was to blend in, make yourself unremarkable, keep your energy very low, and let your prey come to you. When Ellana hunted, sometimes wild animals would walk right up to her as though she were a rock or tree, unaware of her knife until it slipped between their ribs.

Humans could be like that too, utterly oblivious, their eyes gliding over Ellana, seeing nothing more than a dirty little elf, too blandly well-behaved to draw vitriol. It was different in the Inquisition, of course, and always had been — everyone knew her face, recognized the lurid glowing mark on her hand.

So it was very gratifying how, with a set of sturdy gloves, a drab brown outfit with an equally-drab hood pulled over her head, and a modicum of stealth, Ellana could move throughout Skyhold without attracting a second glance. When she did not feel like interacting with anyone — which was often — and was not inclined to hole up in her rooms, she would drift through the yard and the hold, stopping here and there to observe the goings-on, as unnoticed as a black moth on a moonless night. From various shadowed corners, she observed the way Varric’s brow creased with worry as he paged through his correspondence, lines which melted away when he spoke to friends and colleagues who drifted by to say hello. The way Solas could stare at his murals for many long minutes, add a single precise brushstroke of paint, then go back to staring. The almost subliminal flirtation emerging between Bull and Dorian. How Sera’s apparently-random wanderings through the tavern usually involved stopping to banter with people who were alone or unhappy-looking, visiting with them until they were cheerful and laughing. Blackwall’s out-of-tune humming when he thought he was alone. Cassandra’s delighted smile as she read her favourite novels.

There was only one person in the Inquisition Ellana had never managed to observe unseen (aside from Cole, who — although Ellana liked him well enough — was not quite a real person, and was becoming more and more spirit all the time, it seemed). No matter how quietly she moved, no matter how deeply she sank into the shadows, Ellana had never managed to watch Leliana without being noticed.

The first time had been almost by accident. She had been moving, slowly and silently, through the yard at Haven as the afternoon started to fade to evening, watching the recruits go through drills with Cullen, observing the various strange people who had sought refuge here after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, how they lingered or moved around singly and in groups, how the usual divisions between groups of people — by race, by background, by social class — seemed to be less important here.

When Ellana caught sight of Leliana, she had paused. Ellana had not spent much time with Leliana beyond one early fraught conversation in which Leliana had (a little surprisingly) railed against the Maker, and a more recent interaction in which Ellana had emphatically argued against executing a turncoat agent. Neither interaction had been especially pleasant. But something about the spymaster’s form captured Ellana’s attention. She was standing in her tent, alone, framed by the tent’s canvas walls and surrounded by her tables and charts. Something about her face was… unexpectedly captivating. Leliana’s gaze was soft and unfocused; she was not smiling, but there was something about her mouth, the slightest easing of its usual severe set….

Leliana had seemed to be lost in thought. Ellana had allowed herself to drift closer, moving carefully, keeping her energy neutral. She had wanted… to get a closer look, she supposed. To see the way the spymaster’s face looked in repose, without the lines of worry and aggravation that overlaid her features at all other times.

Then Leliana’s features had shifted, slightly, and Ellana froze. The spymaster took in a long, slow breath, her shoulders rising with it, and Ellana thought for an instant that this was merely an absent-minded sigh. But then Leliana had said in a low voice, “That cloak really isn’t heavy enough to shield you from the cold once the sun begins to set, Your Worship. You ought to head indoors, or you will catch a chill.” Without glancing at Ellana, the other woman had turned and walked into the shadows of her tent. Ellana, feeling oddly chagrined, had retreated indoors.

Similar encounters had happened a few more times at Haven, where Leliana had noticed Ellana’s presence almost immediately, despite her best efforts at remaining unseen. It wasn’t as though Ellana sought out the spymaster. But… it was fascinating to Ellana, how Leliana always saw her, even when no one else did. It was a constant temptation to try to see her in return, to observe her in unguarded moments. Yet Leliana eluded her, every time.

At Skyhold, it had taken some time before Ellana had resumed her habit of roaming the keep and the grounds, now even more careful to remain unnoticed. And it had taken even longer for her to venture up to to the rookery where Leliana kept her ravens and met with her agents. 

Ellana _thought_ she was being quite discreet, silently slipping along the outside wall where no torches illuminated the gloom. Leliana was conferring quietly with one of her agents at a table, and when the agent rose to leave, he passed within several yards of Ellana without apparently noticing her. Not even the ravens reacted to her presence.

Ellana stood where she was, very still, very silent. She looked at Leliana as the other woman sat at her desk, writing. When she leaned forward, the ends of her red hair slipped out from under her hood, framing her jaw. Her lashes were lowered, eyes calmly scanning what she had written. Even to write, even here, even (as far as she knew) alone, Leliana wore gauntleted leather gloves. What were her hands like, under their protection?

Somehow, Ellana had gotten lost in thought, for she startled (mentally, and not — she hoped — physically) when Leliana spoke without looking up. “Inquisitor, it is late, and I have many letters to write. Was there something you needed from me?”

Embarrassed at being caught, Ellana slunk away without replying. Later, in her rooms, she was unable to stop thinking about the encounter. Wondering whether Leliana had been aware of her presence from the moment she entered the rookery, or whether Ellana had indeed witnessed at least a few moments of the spymaster thinking herself unobserved and alone. Whether Leliana was truly content to spend so much time alone. Whether Leliana was working too much, too hard. As she prepared to sleep, Ellana wondered whether Leliana was also getting ready for bed, whether she slept easily or whether she endured long hours of restless turning. Whether she dreamed.

Aside from the War Table, Ellana only ever saw Leliana when she risked venturing into the rookery during her solitary wanderings through Skyhold. Leliana never appeared in the yard, and was never seen passing through in the hold anywhere below the library. The spymaster did not spend time in the tavern — she was never there when Ellana was, whether to watch people or to meet one or more of her friends for a drink or a meal or a game.

“She prefers her own company,” Cassandra said, when Ellana casually mentioned Leliana’s solitude one day in the training yard. “I can hardly blame her. The society in Skyhold sometimes leaves much to be desired.”

“Huh,” Cullen said, after Ellana had asked about Leliana’s social habits as the two of them were poring over campaign maps one afternoon. “I never really noticed. But unless you’re concerned for some reason, I don’t think there’s anything sinister going on. She’s probably very busy.”

“Mmmmm,” Josephine said, when Ellana remarked on Leliana’s habitual absence from Skyhold’s common spaces one day when they were taking tea together. “She was not always like this, you know. When I first knew her, in Val Royeaux, she took delight in the Game, and although she had been through many dark trials, there was always a side of her that was… playful. Lighthearted, even.” The ambassador sighed into her teacup. “I will admit, Inquisitor, I do worry about her. You are quite right: she is withdrawn, and she almost never ventures outside of the rookery, or the War Room. I do not know that she really speaks to anyone for much other than her work.”

“Not even with you?” Ellana asked. “I had gotten the impression that you were good friends.”

“We were! We are,” she said with conviction. “I care about her a great deal, and I believe she cares about me. She _does_ visit with me a little, from time to time. She asks about my life, and listens, but… we do not speak of _her_. Of her feelings, of her experiences. Since Justinia was killed, she has been so… detached. As though a part of her heart was lost when the Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed.”

“It has been hard for everyone,” Ellana offered. “Leliana is fortunate to have a friend like you. We are _all_ fortunate to have you here, Lady Josephine,” she added, and meant it.

Josephine smiled. “You are too kind, Your Worship,” she demurred, although they both knew that Josephine’s expert diplomatic work for the Inquisition was invaluable.

Josephine’s friendship was also invaluable, as Ellana was finding. It was truly good to have someone she could talk to about frivolous things, to gossip with, to share the trivial complaints and observations of day-to-day life. Josephine was herself an interesting conversationalist, observant and witty. 

Additionally, Josephine was continually educating Ellana about the Grand Game, which helped her to navigate its aggravating complexities. This frequently proved to be critically important, whenever the Inquisition had to engage with Orlesian nobility on their own terms. Josephine’s suggestions and anecdotes helped Ellana to understand both the Game’s moves and its underlying principles — information she could not glean elsewhere. Vivienne would occasionally deign to offer Ellana advice about the Game, but they did not really see eye to eye about the Game or much else; Cassandra’s disdain for the Game tended to negate any expertise that might stem from her long experience with it; and Leliana… Leliana did not offer any insight to Ellana, on the Game or anything else.

When it became clear that the Inquisition would be officially attending a grand ball at Halamshiral, Josephine’s instruction became even more pointed. The ambassador was, apparently, nervous about the event, hinting darkly that they would all be lucky to make it out alive. Everyone was various degrees of nervous or unhappy about it. Even Vivienne was ill-at-ease about having to attend such an elevated soirée while associated with the (admittedly mostly déclassé) Inquisition members… “And this _outfit!_ ” she had added with an elegant sneer. “It is as though we have actively _tried_ to create uniforms that represent the epitome of ‘unfashionable.’”

Ellana could hardly argue — she was no fan of the uniforms herself, though it had been decided by general consensus among the advisors that they presented a united front with a militaristic effect, which met the Inquisition’s need. This was more important than, for example, Vivienne’s desire to appear dangerously stylish… or Cassandra’s wish to dress for soldierly practicality… or even Ellana’s deep preference for blending in.

The evening went more or less as expected, which was to say: it was long and exhausting, terrifying and extremely dangerous, frustrating and mystifying. All of Ellana’s skills were brought to bear at various points, from her newfound familiarity with the Game, to her ability to move unnoticed through crowds or through nearly-empty rooms, to her frequently-exercised fighting skills. She had been on high alert for many hours, eavesdropping, verbally sparring with overbred Orlesian dolts who could barely conceal their contempt for her, doing reconnaissance and exploration of the Winter Palace’s endless rooms, and fighting everything from antagonistic servants to Venatori. It all culminated in a ludicrously dramatic public confrontation with Grand Duchess Florianne. With Celene gone, Ellana could only desperately hope that the strange alliance of Gaspard and Briala would bring stability to the empire.

She did not feel good about the night’s events. She had never been comfortable with the bald-faced deception and duplicity inherent to the Game, and tonight she had been forced to interact directly with all of the main players, and then turn around and cross many of them. Not that she owed Florianne or Celene, or even Gaspard or Briala, any kind of real allegiance… but still. She was exhausted and miserable despite her ostensible victory. It would have been far better if she had been able to keep to the shadows, support the others by doing the reconnaissance and not participating in the direct action… or better still, if she had never come to Halamshiral, never become Inquisitor, never come to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and gotten a marked hand that had been nothing but trouble from minute one.

Ellana was ruminating, alone on a side balcony overlooking a dark and deserted courtyard. She could hear the music and chatter — despite everything that had happened, the party was still going strong. A few of the Inquisition members had already made their escapes, and Ellana had been tempted to join them. But then she had ended up drifting away, falling into her habit of trying to pass along unnoticed, finding something comforting in being surrounded by people who did not entirely register her presence. She had wandered aimlessly until she had ended up on the balcony, alone, staring into the gloom.

She sensed a presence behind her before she consciously heard anything. Ellana guessed who it was, without being sure, and took a calculated risk, saying, “Shouldn’t you be back at the dance? I do believe there may be a few sets of shoes you have not yet analyzed.”

Leliana leaned on the balustrade next to Ellana, looking out into the dark courtyard. “I assure you, Inquisitor, I have made a full catalogue of the shoes on display,” she said, “and moved on to masks, jewellery, and gloves. I shall have the full report on your desk for your perusal as soon as we return to Skyhold.”

Ellana glanced at the other woman. Was Leliana actually making a _joke?_ It seemed almost impossible, but the expression on Leliana’s face as she gazed over the balcony’s edge was so carefully neutral that it could only confirm the humour of her statement. Ellana gave an incredulous puff of a laugh. “Well, it can hardly be called a full report, if it’s missing an analysis of the belts, codpieces, and headdresses.”

“Alas, I have failed in my duty,” Leliana replied, amused. She turned her head to meet Ellana’s glance. “Allow me to make it up to you. I managed to liberate this from the palace stores.” The spymaster held up a bottle of wine — something unfathomably expensive, judging by the quality of the glass bottle, and of the engraved paper label — and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “Would you care for a drink? You certainly deserve one, after all you have accomplished this night.”

Ellana was usually a very light drinker, not being used to strong beverages and finding herself too easily inebriated… but she did not hesitate. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or her exhaustion and lingering frustration. Perhaps it was that she trusted Leliana implicitly. Perhaps it was just that Ellana was still a little lonely in her life, and here was a beautiful woman offering her a drink. “Creators, yes, please,” Ellana breathed, giving a crooked smile.

Leliana leaned back and moved to tug the cork out, then paused. She handed the bottle to Ellana, then carefully pulled off both of the fine gold-dyed kid gloves that were part of the Inquisition uniform. “It would be a shame to stretch or tear such well-made gloves,” she said, tucking the gloves into her belt and taking the bottle back from Ellana.

“I, ah, I’m afraid that mine were totally ruined. There was a Fade rift, and, well, the fighting got, um…” Ellana said, trying not to stare at Leliana’s hands. She had never seen the other woman’s bare hands before. Leliana’s hands were pale, with long dexterous fingers, and short-trimmed pink nails. The way she handled the bottle, how her strong fingers gripped the cork and gently eased it out with a soft pop… Ellana knew, from conversation with Josephine, that Leliana had been an archer, many years ago. She had an archer’s hands, Ellana thought, an archer’s fingers, vigorous and steady. 

Leliana tossed the cork into the courtyard below, watching it trace a tumbling arc through the light that spilled from the ballroom behind them, into the shadows. Then she held the bottle out to Ellana, who took it and lifted it to her lips. The flavour of the wine was robust, almost biting, with deep aromas of plum and cherry rounding it out. It was delicious, and Ellana hummed appreciatively as she handed the bottle back to Leliana.

Leliana drank, her head tipping slightly back. It was late; Ellana was tired and feeling melancholy after the night’s events; she did not feel like holding herself entirely in check. And so she indulged her fascination, and allowed herself to look at Leliana, to watch her mouth, her lip curled around the glass of the bottle, the rippling movement in her exposed throat as she swallowed, the piercing beauty of her fine features, the freckles dusted across her nose and cheekbones, the brightness of her red hair, exposed and unhooded for one night.

“Ah, very nice,” Leliana said, lowering the bottle. “This is a vintage from Ferelden, I believe. The vineyard typically produces port wines; this is a sherry, drier and somewhat lighter than their ports, though still a beautifully rich flavour… don’t you think?” she asked, offering the bottle to Ellana.

“Yes. It’s very good,” Ellana said, feeling more than a little unsophisticated. She sipped the wine to cover her chagrin. The drink was already swirling through her brain, warm and enticing. It felt _wonderful_.

“I’m very pleased with the outcome of tonight’s endeavours,” Leliana remarked, leaning on the railing. “Corypheus wants chaos in the Orlesian Empire. Celene was not strong enough to bring about stability… or perhaps she had priorities that were not wholly compatible with stability. At any rate, I believe that Gaspard and Briala will actually work effectively together to unite the Empire.” She looked significantly at Ellana. “You made the right decisions, every step of the way, tonight.”

Ellana hesitated, then took a long drink from the bottle. She didn’t want to think about what she had decided, what she had done. She handed the bottle to Leliana. “And the Inquisition has a new Imperial Liaison,” she said. “She is someone you once knew, is she not?”

“Morrigan,” Leliana said, a note of exasperation entering her voice. “Yes, she is known to me. I do not trust her. She was ever an enigma, years ago, when we were… and until this very evening, she had Celene’s ear. I do not think she was loyal to Celene specifically, but still. One wonders.” She drank from the bottle, and handed it to Ellana.

“Was it a mistake, allowing her connection to the Inquisition?” Ellana asked, though she was having trouble thinking about the Inquisition at all. The night air was so fragrant, and the dance music sounded so very lovely and rhythmic. The golden light of candles and magical veilfire coming from the tall windows was absolutely enchanting…. She sipped the wine, again and again; it really _was_ delicious. And it was making her feel so relaxed, after such a trying night. She smiled at Leliana, who was frowning.

“I do not believe so. Though it _would_ be a mistake to give her too much trust… or too much power.”

“Hmmmm,” Ellana agreed absently, sipping from the bottle.

“But that is a problem for tomorrow,” Leliana said. “Tonight was a brilliant victory, and it was not at all assured. You, Inquisitor, you have won the night,” she went on, her voice becoming warmer and more spirited. She took the bottle from Ellana and raised it, as humans often did for a toast, and said “To you, Your Worship,” before taking a long drink.

“I wish you would call me by my name,” Ellana said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. 

Leliana fixed her with a keen gaze. Her eyes, in the light from the ballroom, were very blue. Slowly she raised the bottle to her mouth, her lips curved in a smile, dimples showing in her cheeks. “To you… Ellana,” she said, then drank, tipping the bottle back.

Then she held the bottle out to Ellana, who took it. But instead of relinquishing her hold, Leliana slipped her hand over Ellana’s where it gripped the bottle. Ellana had to suppress a gasp. Leliana’s hand was very warm; Ellana could feel the callouses on her palm, on her fingertips, the contrast with the smooth warmth of the rest of her hand. Leliana, still smiling, gently urged Ellana to raise the bottle to her lips, and then lifted it, tipping it back, so that Ellana swallowed the last long pull of wine.

“There,” Leliana said, lowering the bottle but not removing her hand. Ellana’s head was spinning, pleasantly, and she stared at Leliana, at her bright eyes, her beautiful lips curling up at the corners. “You needed to make up for missing out, earlier. They were serving very good wine tonight — not as good as this, but certainly better than what’s usually available at Skyhold — and you did not get to have even a glass. Which was terribly unfair.”

Ellana, relaxed and happy, smiled at Leliana. Then she glanced down at the bottle, suddenly shy, but she said what she wanted to say anyway: “I didn’t get to dance, either. Except with Florianne. And that doesn’t count, not really.” She forced herself to meet Leliana’s glance.

Leliana did not move or speak, and Ellana held her breath for one interminable, humiliated moment. Then Leliana blinked, and her expression shifted into something more alluring, more provoking than Ellana had ever seen on the spymaster’s face. “Well,” Leliana said, teasing, “it would really be just shockingly unfair, if you did not get to dance tonight.” She took the now-empty bottle from Ellana and set it aside. She took half a step back — Ellana had not consciously registered how close they had been standing, until the sudden distance and absence of warmth hit her — but it was only so Leliana could arrange her legs into a dancing stance, and hold out her hands to Ellana.

For a moment, Ellana could only stare. Leliana had assumed the stance of the partner to be led — the woman’s part, in traditional Orlesian partnered dancing — and held her hands palm-down, waiting for Ellana to take up her hands, to step close, into position, to lead the dance. Ellana had led her dance with Florianne, which made sense from a point of view of etiquette (they were both women, but Ellana had done the asking) and strategy (to show the Inquisitor’s purported boldness, which Ellana was under strict orders to do). The etiquette here was a bit murkier, since neither woman had explicitly asked the other to dance… but it felt so strange that Ellana should take the lead in a dance, or lead _anything_ , involving the mysterious and powerful Leliana.

The music swelled. It was a tune Ellana did not know, but she recognized the beat, and knew the dance that went with it. She had endured extensive dancing lessons with Josephine, and with Vivienne and Dorian and even Scout Harding, in preparation for the ball. She knew the steps… if she could bring herself to take the first one. 

Ellana moved forward, took Leliana’s hands in her own, and started the dance.

At first, they swung neatly around one another, their steps coordinated and precise. Ellana felt oddly out of breath, though the dance was hardly physically taxing. Leliana’s hands were still very warm, and Ellana held them lightly, just enough contact to lead properly. They moved through the steps, gazing at one another. 

Leliana’s smile widened, her dimples appearing again, and she gave a light, musical laugh — a sound that made Ellana’s heart flip — and said, “This is so proper, I may fall asleep from boredom. Surely we can be a bit more daring, out here, alone, after such a resounding victory?” And she stepped closer, still keeping the rhythm of the dance, and slipped one hand up Ellana’s arm to rest on her shoulder, her fingers brushing against the bare skin on the back of Ellana’s neck, just above her collar. 

Ellana automatically placed her now-freed hand on Leliana’s waist, leading the dance through the pressure of her fingers on the small of the spymaster’s back. She could feel the movement of Leliana’s body under her hand, her hips swaying slightly as they moved through the steps. Dancing closely like this required more attention to the placement of feet, but Leliana was graceful in her dancing, and Ellana had practiced these steps over and over again before this evening, so they moved together in harmony, a symmetry of motion, balanced between control and ease.

They danced for several minutes, during which Ellana was very careful of her feet, very aware of the pressure of her hand on Leliana’s waist… and she was very careful _not_ to stare too intently at Leliana’s lips, scant inches from her own… or the way she could feel the warmth from Leliana where their bodies brushed together as they danced….

“You’re good at this,” Leliana murmured, then closed her eyes and moved in even closer, leaning in slightly so that her cheek caressed Ellana’s. 

Ellana managed, with some effort, to keep her breathing even. Even so, her own eyes closed of their own accord, giving in to the overwhelm of the moment. She moved through the steps, guiding Leliana through the touch on her back, holding her close. Leliana’s cheek was so soft, her waist so slim, her hand so warm in Ellana’s….

A sudden and powerful wave of desire washed over Ellana, shocking her with its physical urgency. She felt it erupt low in her belly and lash through her limbs, as bright and dazzling as lighting. She wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything, to swoop forward, cradle Leliana in her arms, kiss her again and again, take her to bed and — 

Ellana shoved this urge forcefully down, almost breaking the rhythm of the dance in her sudden physical agitation. She had thought she had her infatuation with Leliana under some control. She had been able to tell herself that she was merely fascinated by the spymaster’s inscrutability, that she admired her skill and hard work, that she had perhaps had her head turned a little by Leliana’s beauty and grace, her lilting voice and keen intelligence. In an instant, Ellana’s shaky self-deception had collapsed, and despite her steely resolve, desire for Leliana pulsed through her body and echoed loudly in her mind.

She focused intently on the steps of the dance. Leliana’s closeness was extremely distracting, but Ellana managed to keep breathing, keep dancing, keep leading. It was excruciating; it was wonderful; Ellana wanted the music to end and put her out of her misery, and she wanted it to never end.

The dance came to a close. Leliana stepped back, as serene and unbothered as a contented cat, and offered Ellana a small smile. “Thank you for the pleasure of the dance,” she said. “I should return to the ballroom — and you should go get some sleep. You have had a long and trying evening.”

Feeling bereft, Ellana replied, “Indeed. Thank you for the dance, and the wine,” she added, grateful that her voice sounded mostly normal. Unsure what to do, still holding Leliana’s hand, she gave an awkward ducking half-bow. Leliana smiled, gave her hand a small squeeze and let go, then turned and walked into the light and music of the ball.

The Inquisition was quartered in rented rooms in the city, close to the palace — it had been deemed unwise for them to accept the offer of rooms in the Winter Palace itself. During the walk through quiet streets (escorted by Inquisition guards), Ellana had suddenly felt absolutely exhausted. In her room, she forced herself to drink a great deal of water to offset the strong wine she’d had earlier, then fell into bed as soon as she had shucked off her uniform.

But sleep eluded her. She kept replaying the night’s events in her mind, wondering if some way could have been found to stabilize Orlais without so much loss of life… or so much subterfuge and deception. It was a horrible burden, the knowledge of the cost of victory, the knowledge that it had all been because of her choices… yet every decision that she had made had seemed the best at the time. She had done the best she could. It would have to suffice. 

And then her mind turned to her dance with Leliana. Remembering it made Ellana feel warm all over, suffused with happiness. She had felt attraction before, certainly, and even infatuation. But this was different. This was… _more_. She was deeply attracted to Leliana, to everything about her. Leliana was subtle and clever, observant and resolute. She was, truly, a remarkable woman. And she was… oh, Creators, she was beautiful, from her lovely face to her graceful hands to her long slim legs. Ellana felt drawn to her on every level, attracted to every single thing she knew abut Leliana. She fell asleep reflecting on how good and right it had felt to be close to Leliana, to move in harmony with her, to make her smile and laugh.

If Ellana had entertained hopes that their relationship, the interaction between herself and Leliana, would somehow change after that dance, she was sorely disappointed. After they returned to Skyhold, and the Inquisition as a whole settled back into the relative normalcy of planning and executing missions, Ellana had also quickly settled back into her habit of wandering the keep and the yard. The first time she had drifted up to the rookery, Ellana had a half-formed idea that if ( _when_ ) Leliana noticed her and said something, they would have a conversation, maybe even a bit of a visit, rather than the usual thing (Ellana silently retreating in embarrassment). But this was, as Ellana found, not to be.

“Yes, Inquisitor? What can I do for you?” Leliana asked, not turning around, as she gazed out one of the rookery’s high windows, her gauntleted hands clasped behind her back.

It took Ellana a few seconds to find her voice. “I thought you had agreed to call me ‘Ellana,’” she said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Mmm. I think, perhaps, it would be best to remain more formal… in all but exceptionally relaxed circumstances,” Leliana said calmly. She had not turned around. 

Ellana reeled; Leliana’s words almost had the effect of a physical blow. But she quickly gathered herself. “I disagree,” she said. “I am on a first-name basis with the rest of the advisors, and with many of our colleagues in the Inquisition. Why should it be different, between you and me?”

Leliana did not respond immediately, nor did she move. Then she replied, “I am your spymaster. It is my role to be discreet, and separate, even within the Inquisition. My association with you helps to set that example. And so, Inquisitor, we must remain on formal terms.”

Ellana felt frustration and hurt wash over her in waves, and took a few seconds to formulate her response. “I cannot force you to call me anything,” she said levelly. “But I completely disagree that formal titles are needed between us, especially in private conversation. I… I would like us to know each other better, and first names are part of that.”

Leliana slowly turned her head over her shoulder, but did not raise her eyes to meet Ellana’s. “I do not think that is wise.”

Frustrated, Ellana nearly rolled her eyes. “That remains to be seen,” she said.

Leliana fully turned and strode past Ellana, still avoiding her eyes. “I have work to see to,” she said, “so unless there is some pressing matter…?”

Ellana merely shook her head at Leliana’s retreating figure. 

It was maddening, how Leliana seemed to be even more stubbornly aloof now than she had before the ball at the Winter Palace. Or perhaps it was the same aloofness as before, but now Ellana was making a more concerted effort to get closer to the other woman. Although she still spent some of her free time wandering the keep, Ellana had given up on attempting to remain unnoticed when she visited the rookery. She was sensible enough not to try to engage Leliana in casual conversation. Instead, she brought something to occupy herself — her daggers or other equipment to be cleaned or repaired, or a book she was reading to improve her common-tongue literacy, or a bit of whittling. She would sit somewhere without speaking to Leliana, or even looking at her, and settle her focus on her own project.

Leliana seemed rather put out by Ellana’s presence, which normally would have immediately caused Ellana to cease her visits — she would not wish to stay somewhere she was not welcome. But… surely Leliana did not _dislike_ her. The wine… the dance… there was something else there, Ellana was sure. 

And there were the specific ways in which Leliana reacted to Ellana’s appearance in the rookery. Ellana always sat somewhere off to the side, out of the way. Leliana could easily have said nothing, ignored Ellana entirely. Had she done so, Ellana would have probably stopped coming. But… Leliana did not ignore Ellana. Most evenings, she pointedly interrupted Ellana to ask if she was there for any specific reason. Ellana always replied blandly in the negative, then resumed her cleaning, or whittling, or reading. Leliana would return to her own work, or to looking broodingly out a window, or to the Andrastrian shrine in a nearby alcove, with the occasional inscrutable gaze at Ellana.

After some time, Leliana ceased these interruptions. Ellana continued to quietly spend time in the rookery. A few of Leliana’s agents would occasionally offer some polite conversation when they were around, but for the most part, it was Ellana and Leliana, each working on her own tasks, quiet and even… companionable. Somehow, in some unspoken way, it felt like Leliana accepted and even welcomed Ellana’s presence in the rookery.

Eventually, it came to pass that Leliana would occasionally settle at the same table as Ellana. Ellana never remarked on this. But her attraction had not left her; it had, in fact, become even stronger despite Leliana’s avoidance of personal interaction. Through their interaction in Inquisition work, and through this strange, silent camaraderie in the rookery, Ellana’s regard, her desire, her adoration of Leliana had grown deep and vigorous, like the roots of a mighty tree, penetrating her heart. And when Leliana came near, sat at the same table, it lit glimmering sparks all through Ellana’s mind. Leliana sometimes — as rare as precious jewels — would make a comment or two on some neutral topic, or engage in a brief personal conversation about what Ellana was reading or working on. 

Ellana treasured these small exchanges. She longed for more, of course she did, but for now, this was enough. Even if Leliana never allowed anything further… it was enough, just to be allowed this close. And she would always have the memories of the Winter Palace, and their dance.

Thinking about their dance — as she often did — Ellana remembered the wine they had shared. She knew very little of wines, and seldom drank anything stronger than small beer with a meal, but she had certainly enjoyed _that_ wine. As had Leliana. What had it been? Something from Ferelden… a sherry, from a vineyard that typically produced ports. Ellana began asking around about wines, from her companions and at the tavern bar. She never did learn exactly what wine she had shared with Leliana, but she learned a bit about Ferelden varietals, and the different strengths and types of wine that existed. During one expedition that took them through Val Royeaux, Ellana sought out a wine-seller and purchased a few bottles that she thought would be enjoyable, based on her research.

Upon her return to Skyhold, after everything had settled down and she had returned to her usual routines, Ellana visited the rookery one evening. Leliana was conferring quietly with one of her agents, and Ellana silently settled at a table. On the table before her, she laid out her daggers, whetstone, oiled cloths… and a bottle of Ferelden port wine, and two small ceramic tumblers. After she had partly sharpened one of the blades, and the agent had departed, Ellana unstoppered the bottle, and poured herself a small measure. She had very deliberately left the other tumbler, empty, in front of the other chair; and now, she set the open bottle close by it.

After some time, Leliana took her up on this silent invitation, seating herself at the table. She gestured to the bottle, and asked, softly, “May I?”

“Of course,” Ellana replied. 

Leliana poured a bit of the wine into her tumbler and took a sip. The corners of her lips rose almost imperceptibly (Ellana saw with thrilled delight), and she said, “This is very nice.”

“I think so too.”

After that, neither woman said anything. Ellana carefully sharpened and oiled her daggers, sipping her wine occasionally, pausing to refill both tumblers. After a time, Leliana rose, thanked Ellana, and went back to her writing desk. Some time later, Ellana packed up her things and made her way back to her rooms. She placed the half-full re-stopped wine bottle on her shelf with the other two bottles she had acquired, smiling to herself. 

From then on, when Ellana visited the rookery after dark, she brought a bottle and two tumblers. Leliana almost always joined her. It made Ellana unspeakably happy. They never drank much, just a tumbler or two each, and at any rate it was not every evening. When they finished the first bottle of port, Ellana washed out the bottle and kept it, and the cork stopper, on her shelf. It was perhaps silly to keep such a souvenir, but Ellana could not being herself to get rid of it. 

They had gotten part of the way through the next bottle, a sherry, when one evening Ellana set the tumblers on the table as usual, and pulled out her book (a silly romance novel borrowed from Cassandra, which Ellana was enjoying immensely despite herself). She glanced up as Leliana approached the table without sitting down. She saw that the spymaster was holding a small earthenware bowl.

“I thought it unfair that I have been drinking your wine, and not contributing anything,” Leliana said. Before Ellana could protest, Leliana set the bowl on the table; it contained olives of different sizes and colours. Ellana could smell the spices and brine. “I think these will go very well with the sherry,” Leliana said, seating herself. Uncharacteristically, she filled both of their cups.

Ellana eyed the olives uncertainly.

Leliana nodded toward the bowl. “Please, have some.” As Ellana hesitated, Leliana tugged off first one glove, then other other. Ellana’s breath caught, a little, at the sight of Leliana’s bare hands. As she watched, Leliana plucked up a single olive, dark and glistening with oil, and popped it into her mouth. Then she sucked the tip of each finger, and Ellana thought her heart might stop. “Mmm,” Leliana hummed. She pulled the pit from between her lips, and casually flicked it out a nearby open window. “Really, these are very nice. Imported from Antiva, if the trader is to be believed. Try the black ones if you’re not sure — they’re quite mild.”

Ellana took a slow sip of sherry to get over her discomposure, and swallowed with some difficulty. Then, not trusting herself to speak, she very meticulously selected one of the black olives from the bowl. It was tangy and salty, sharp with foreign spices. Following Leliana’s lead, she licked the oil from her fingers, then tossed the pit out the window.

Eating olives was not conducive to reading, especially a borrowed book which Ellana would not want to soil with oily fingerprints. So, that evening, she and Leliana had an actual conversation. It was only of safe, neutral topics: the changing of the season in the Frostbacks; some harmless pranks Sera had pulled recently; the latest merchants arrived in Skyhold (from whom Leliana had gotten the olives, it seemed). In discussing the outfits of the Orlesian merchants, Leliana even became rather animated and smiling — her dimples were visible even in the flickering torchlight, even with her hood. She gestured expressively with one hand, her bare fingers curling and uncurling. Ellana was enraptured, completely.

It only lasted as long as one tumbler of sherry, as one small bowl of olives. Still, the memory of it warmed Ellana’s heart for many days. She caught herself smiling and sighing happily to herself more than once. She wondered if others noticed her distraction; but, as no one remarked one it, she hoped that she was perhaps acting more discreetly than she feared.

From then on, when Ellana visited the rookery in the evening, Leliana almost always brought out something for them to nibble on: olives, thin hard crackers that they topped with pickled relish from a jar, sweet and chewy macarons, spiced nuts. Sometimes they sat, eating and drinking in comfortable quietude. Sometimes they had gentle, easy, enjoyable conversations. A few times, the conversation slipped into spirited debate, where their opinions differed — but even these were satisfying, as they both argued with respect for the other, and though they never reached an agreed-upon conclusion, it was stimulating to play off one another’s experiences and opinions.

Ellana’s other social interactions continued on, more or less as usual. She met friends and comrades in the tavern over drinks and stories, she spent time in the yard to train or spar and to watch others do the same, she visited with her other friends in Skyhold. She continued to enjoy her tea-times with Josephine, perhaps even more now than before. It was very pleasant to have someone she could talk to about Leliana. Josephine and Leliana had been friends for many years before the Inquisition had begun, in Val Royeaux, and Josephine seemed pleased to talk about Leliana, and to hear that the spymaster was, perhaps, relaxing somewhat.

However, one afternoon, after Ellana had been happily recounting her last evening spent in Leliana’s company, Josephine was uncharacteristically quiet and unresponsive. Ellana, confused and a little concerned, grew quiet herself. Josephine gave Ellana a very serious look, and set aside her teacup.

“Ellana,” she said. “You have been spending quite a lot of time with Leliana. And I have noticed… you speak of her in very warm terms.”

“Yes,” Ellana said, smiling. “I enjoy her company very much.”

Josephine did not smile in return. “An entanglement with our spymaster seems most unwise.”

Ellana nearly choked on a sip of tea. “I beg your pardon?” she sputtered, mildly shocked.

Josephine looked at her coolly. “Leliana is an important member of the Inquisition advisory council. She is not here to be _seduced_.”

Ellana stared. “What exactly are you trying to say, Josephine?”

“Leliana is my dear friend,” she replied. “I have known her for many years, and I flatter myself that I am more familiar with her history, her temperament, and her needs, than are you. No matter that you have become close to her, recently.”

Ellana felt her face contort. She could not quite entirely wrap her mind around the fact that Josephine, whom she considered a friend, was apparently… _chastising_ her for her interest in Leliana.

“You ought to be cautious. Leliana is certainly no stranger to courtly intrigue, but that is not, I think, what is going on between you.” Josephine’s mouth pressed momentarily into a line; she seemed, astonishingly, to be struggling for words. “I think… that you are genuinely attracted to Leliana, that your feelings are sincere and truly affectionate. But you perhaps do not understand: where love is concerned, Leliana… has difficulties. Her past experiences, the ways in which she has been hurt, have made her self-protective, often to the point of being overly withdrawn, but….” Josephine sighed, and looked away. “If she was to open herself, in any way… her heart is vulnerable, Ellana. I would not wish to see her toyed with.”

Ellana felt a flash of offended anger. “I am _not_ ‘toying’ with Leliana. I care about her! Quite a lot!”

Josephine met her eyes. “Really? Is that so?” she said, softly, and something about her tone and the expression on her face made Ellana abruptly remember the many times Josephine had effortlessly arranged for the downfall — or worse — of the Inquisition’s opponents. It occurred to her that there were very probably myriad ways in which Josephine could bring great unpleasantness to Ellana’s life, without bloodshed or even apparent enmity. She shivered, suddenly chilled.

Josephine titled her head, observing Ellana’s reactions. “Well. Whatever is between you, I trust that you will treat her with kindness. For your sake, as well as hers.”

“Creators, Josephine, I — I would never do anything to hurt Leliana!” Ellana said, a little desperately. “I just, I enjoy spending time with her. It’s true… I do wish for more. With Leliana. If… if she would ever have me. But I would not _toy_ with her, Josephine!”

Something in Ellana’s words, or her expression, must have convinced Josephine, at least partly. Her posture relaxed somewhat, and she even offered Ellana a small, reassuring smile. “I do believe your intentions are honourable,” she said. “It is only that I do not wish to see Leliana hurt. Nor you, for that matter — and, I must warn you, if you intend to court Leliana, there is a very real possibility that you will be hurt.”

“But… that would be true in any courtship, if there are genuine feelings involved.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Josephine said with a sad smile. She refilled her teacup from the pot, then took a sip. “I have many acquaintances and colleagues, you know, but… I have few true friends. Those I do have, I… deeply cherish. I will not trouble you any further on this matter. But I do watch over my friends.”

Ellana left that tea-time both shaken and reassured. She was unsure whether it would be wise to bring up her conversation with Josephine when she next visited Leliana in the rookery. It was tempting, in some ways, because it would force them both to acknowledge Ellana’s feelings and intentions… which could go either quite well, or very, very badly. Ellana could face down demons and Red Templars and abominations, but the idea of a direct rejection from Leliana was frankly the most terrifying thing Ellana could imagine. And so, ashamed of her cowardice but unable to overcome it, she said nothing of it, and her evenings with Leliana continued much as they had.

Until one evening when Ellana arrived, and Leliana beckoned to her from her writing desk. Bemused, Ellana came close. She saw that Leliana’s desk was clear, except for one leaf of paper, covered in writing.

“A message from Divine Justinia,” Leliana said, as casually as remarking on the weather.

Ellana blinked. She knew that Justinia’s death had been difficult for Leliana, that they had been close confidantes since before Justinia’s appointment as Divine. Trying to match Leliana’s tone, Ellana said, “That’s a shock. You’re all right reading it?”

“Thank you for the concern, Inquisitor, but I am.” Ellana flinched a little at the title in place of her name, but Leliana went on before she could respond. “This message was written months, perhaps even years ago… to be delivered to me if she died. I’ve heard of such contingency plans. A sudden death often leaves loose ends.” She glanced up, meeting Ellana’s eyes. “This letters speaks of Valence, a small village on the Waking Sea. There is something hidden there.”

“Something hidden there? What?”

Leliana gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders. “The Divine was a powerful woman who used her position to obtain all sorts of things. Whatever she hid in Valence would very likely benefit the Inquisition, and must be kept from falling into the wrong hands. If I’m lucky, she will have instructions for me.”

“Leliana… what instructions are you hoping for?” Ellana asked uncertainly.

“I don’t know. Perhaps something to do with the Chantry? Or it could be personal,” Leliana said, sounding almost… eager. “She guided me for many years, Inquisitor, as a Divine and as a friend. There are days when I still look to her for advice, only to remember that I am alone.”

Ellana drew in a quick breath. “Leliana, you — you are not alone. You know that, don’t you?”

Leliana merely met her gaze impassively. 

“You’re planning on going to Valence,” Ellana said; it was not a question, and she did not wait for an answer. “Well, I am coming with you. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

Leliana waited a beat, then said, “Wonderful. I was going to ask you to come with me to Valence, at any rate.” She stood, walking around her desk. “One more thing: If what is hidden in Valence is a valuable as I think, we’re not going to be the only ones looking for it. I mean to leave this very night.”

“Leliana, I — I cannot get away so soon,” Ellana said fretfully. “I must sit in judgement all day tomorrow, and Cullen and I must finalize plans for — ”

Leliana raised a hand to forestall more protestations. “I know, Inquisitor. I will go now, and do reconnaissance on my own for a little. I am very well able to travel safely, alone, especially in that part of Orlais. You must take care of your duties here, and then… come to Valence. I will meet you at the chantry there. You will not need to find me, I will find you. Please trust me, Inquis — _Ellana_. Please trust me, as I trust you to come as soon as you may.”

Ellana nodded, though she was not entirely happy with the plan. Leliana stepped forward, and gave Ellana’s hands one firm squeeze, then stalked off into the darkness. Ellana left, taking the bottle of wine with her. In her chambers, she considered getting into the wine by herself, but it would not have been the same, without Leliana’s company.

She slept fitfully that night, her mind caught up with wondering if Leliana was already gone from Skyhold, if Leliana was truly all right with this development, and worrying about Leliana generally. This was silly, Ellana knew — Leliana was, as she had pointed out, well able to take care of herself! — but her mind would not settle.

The next day was a distracted blur. Ellana sat in judgment, but barely registered Josephine’s introductions of the cases, or the defendants’ speeches. Several times, Josephine had to unsubtly guide Ellana’s decisions, which was not ideal, but probably even more fair (and certainly more well-informed) than what Ellana would have been able to muster on her own, even on a better day. Her meetings with Cullen were little more than Ellana passing on all authority to Cullen and Cassandra for military counsel. She spent the last hours of the evening meeting with Josephine — who, it seemed, knew not only of Leliana’s absence, but also the reason for it — and ensuring that Ellana’s upcoming absence would be accounted for. 

Josephine and Cullen had both tried to insist that scouts accompany Ellana to Valence, but she firmly refused. It was not a long journey, it would be on safe roads, and Ellana had travelled alone many times in her life before the Inquisition. And, although she did not say this, she wanted very much to do this alone… to go to Leliana, and help her, on her own terms, independently. She set out the next morning, provisioned sparingly, on a horse chosen for endurance. If the good weather held, and no calamity befell her, Valence was only three days’ ride away.

Ellana’s luck held, and the horse proved to be as dependable as promised by Master Dennet, and so she arrived at Valence by nightfall on the third day. There was an inn, but Ellana judged that a new guest would attract too much social attention in such a small, out-of-the-way place, and so she camped on the outskirts of the settlement. 

The next morning, Ellana paid for horse to be stabled at the inn, and let it be known that she was a traveller who wished to visit the chantry. Such Andrastrian pilgrims were common enough in this part of Thedas — even Dalish converts, as Ellana was assumed to be, were unremarkable — and so she was not given a second glance. 

Ellana made her way through the chantry-yard and approached the building’s imposing front doors. Despite having spent a good deal of time among Andrastrians in the Inquisition, Ellana was still unfamiliar enough with the practices of the religion that she was reluctant to enter the building. How would she be expected to act? What if someone questioned her?

A shadow detached itself from a corner of the chantry-yard, and Ellana recognized it as Leliana immediately. She waited for the other woman to come close.

“Welcome to Valence,” Leliana said, sidling up to Ellana. “I am glad you’re here. I’m anxious to get inside the chantry and find what Justinia left there.”

“You haven’t been inside yet?”

“No. I have been gathering information on the sisters who occupy it at present, and… but there is no need for you to know all the details.” Leliana turned and met her eyes. “Just — do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Ellana said without hesitation.

Leliana held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Good. Let us go in. Let us finish this chapter.”

The chantry doors opened easily, despite their size, on well-oiled hinges. Inside, enormous statues rose up into the gloom of the high-ceilinged hallway. The smell of warm beeswax and woodsmoke permeated the place, which was lit by both braziers and innumerable candles. It was a terrifically grand place, for such a small village, but Ellana was used to the material excesses of Andrastrian chantries.

Leliana knelt briefly before one of the statues, then rose and turned to Ellana. “It’s just as I remember it,” she said.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been here before.”

Leliana was looking around. “After the Blight ended, I came here to see Justinia. She was just Dorothea then, a Revered Mother.”

They fell into step, walking cautiously through the entrance hall. Except for their soft footsteps and the crackle of flames, it was silent in the chantry. “I didn’t expect it to be so… deserted,” Ellana said. “It makes me uneasy,” she admitted.

“It’s a small village, and it’s too early for the Chant. I’m sure the Sisters are somewhere.”

As though summoned by Leliana’s remark, a chantry sister walked across the entryway between the hallway and the main sanctuary. She gave them a cursory glance, which turned into a double-take. Her eyes widened. “Leliana? Is that you?” she asked in a strong Orlesian accent.

“Sister Natalie!” Leliana said, her surprise carefully calibrated. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Val Royeaux.”

Sister Natalie approached them. She wore the robes and mitre of her religious order, and was tall and solidly built but did not (Ellana thought) move like a fighter. 

“No, I’ve been here since Justinia died,” Sister Natalie said. Ignoring Ellana, she embraced Leliana. “This place makes me feel like… like she’s still here with us.”

As Sister Natalie spoke, Leliana made pointed eye contact with Ellana over the Sister’s shoulder. Her friendly expression turned briefly grim, and she shook her head minutely. Any calm Ellana had been feeling drained out of her in an instant — clearly, this Sister Natalie was not the confidante of Leliana’s that she was playing at.

The two women separated, and Leliana turned to Ellana. “Inquisitor, this is Natalie, a trusted friend.”

Sister Natalie looked exceedingly horrified for an instant, before getting control of herself. “Wait… ‘Inquisitor’? You… you brought the Inquisitor here?” The Sister fell to her knees before Ellana, the very picture of contrite deference. “My lady, forgive me for not recognizing you earlier.”

Ellana was not sure how to respond. She obviously did not have all the facts here. But she had said she trusted Leliana, she _did_ trust Leliana, and so she would follow her spymaster’s lead. “I am here as a private citizen,” she said neutrally. “There’s no need for any formality, Sister Natalie, I assure you.” 

Leliana caught Sister Natalie’s attention by stepping close and touching her elbow. “Natalie, listen. There is something hidden here. Something Justinia left for me.”

Ellana watched with interest as Natalie attempted to react neutrally. “Oh, really? What is it?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find it. I’m curious to see what brought us all here,” she said, glancing at Ellana. “Justinia arranged for a letter to come to me, after her death. It had some instructions for me… it was clear, at least, that I was to come here. The rest was a little cryptic.” Leliana was looking at Natalie, but her energy was bent toward Ellana, and so she paid close attention to Leliana’s words: “Justinia wrote: ‘Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch…. That light has no fear of darkness…. Above all, that strength lives in an open heart.’” 

Sister Natalie drew herself to her full height. “She must be hinting at something in here. Let’s look around,” she suggested.

The three women began walking through the sanctuary. Ellana was on full alert, looking for possible ambushes and hidden spaces, as well as for anything that might match the clues Leliana had conveyed. Soon, Ellana was walking many paces ahead, while Leliana and Natalie trailed behind, speaking to one another.

Leliana asked, her tone wistful, “Do they still sing verses from the Benedictions every Friday? That canticle was Justinia’s favourite.”

After the briefest hesitation, Natalie replied, “Ah, yes, of course. We’d never give up the traditions of our most beloved Divine.”

“That is lovely to hear.”

Ellana looked around. The place was full of enough candles to warm an alienage for an Age, the walls almost covered in enormous paintings. Architectural flourishes were everywhere. The hints from Justinia’s riddles could be hidden anywhere!

Leliana was again speaking conversationally to Natalie. “I stare up at the Breach sometimes. It’s terrifying, but beautiful, in its way.”

“It is beautiful,” Natalie agreed.

“Have you seen it by sunrise?”

“When the sun rises through it, it splits into what looks like a thousand suns. Like a broken mirror.”

Ellana was hardly listening, looking around everywhere for clues. Despite the ostensibly pleasant repartee between Leliana and Sister Natalie, the tension in the room was being ratcheted up, slowly but inexorably, and she sensed that things were going to come to a head sooner rather than later.

“Yes,” Leliana was saying. “Spectacular, isn’t it?” And then, in nearly the same tone, “You must be careful, Natalie. Justinia’s enemies are making their move, vying for position and the Sunburst Throne.”

Ellana spotted a painting, and something in her mind lit up like a flare. The painting depicted a stylized rose, with a single blossom growing out of a thick, dark, thorned stem. _Faith sprung from a barren branch,_ she thought, approaching the painting. On the wall beneath the frame, not easy to see in the flickering candlelight but not truly hidden, was a small lever. Ellana reached out and pushed it; it depressed into the wall with a gratifying mechanical clatter.

“The Inquisitor has found a hidden switch! How auspicious,” Leliana remarked, still standing quite close to Natalie, away from Ellana. “The rose, blossoming on the dead stalk… I was in the cloister in Lothering when the Blight began,” she said pensively. Ellana kept walking, looking around for another such mechanism. Leliana went on, “There was a lot of fear back then. No one knew what was going to happen, whether we would live or die.”

Ellana came to a large, gruesome-looking depiction of (who she assumed was) Andraste being martyred.

“And then,” Leliana was saying, “one morning, I found a single bloom on a dead rose bush, and I thought, ‘Even in the midst of all this, life finds a way. The Maker hasn’t abandoned us.’”

Ellana found and depressed the switch under this painting, hearing again that deep clatter of mechanisms behind the wall. 

“‘An open heart.’ Well, that one’s quite literal,” Leliana remarked. “And morbid. But Justinia always said that compassion was my greatest strength. Doubt is easy. It takes courage to trust.”

Ellana, half-listening to Leliana, drifted toward the largest brazier in the centre of the sanctuary room. _Light has no fear of darkness,_ she thought, seeing an oddly shadowed hollow at the lip of the brazier, surrounded by flames. On instinct, she reached her hand into the hollow. It was quite cool, not licked by the flames that surrounded it. Her fingers found the switch within, and pressed it. The mechanical clatter this time echoed throughout the sanctuary.

“What was that?” Natalie asked.

“Looks like we opened something,” said Leliana.

As they watched, a wall that had appeared to be solid pulled apart, revealing a painting of Andraste clad in white. This painting rose up into a hidden recess above, to reveal a small chamber beyond. On a raised platform, a small, ornate box rested, its lid decorations glittering in the candlelight.

Ellana drifted slowly toward the chamber, almost mesmerized. The sound of a knife being drawn, and a scuffle, came from behind her, and she spun around. Leliana had pinned Natalie against the altar with one arm, and was holding a knife to the other woman’s throat. Ellana rushed over. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Leliana all but spat.

“Leliana, stop!” Ellana cried. “What are you doing?”

“I’m protecting us,” Leliana said. Then, to Natalie, who was cringing away from the knife’s point: “They never sing the Benedictions here on Fridays, Natalie.” Leliana’s voice almost dripped with contempt, and barely-concealed rage. “Something so simple, and you got it so wrong. I wanted to believe,” Leliana went on, distressed, “but you were lying from the start.” She paused. “Keep that pretty mouth shut if you must, dear. You’ve already told me everything I need to know. The prickleweed burrs on your hem, talking about the sun rising through the Breach. It all points to a single place: Morelle in the Dales, Grand Cleric Victoire’s bastion. She sent you, didn’t she? Victoire was always an opportunist.”

This was all news to Ellana. “Who is this Victoire?”

“An experienced Cleric,” Leliana said, her knife never wavering. “She never agreed with Justinia, but she kept her ideas to herself. I suppose now, with Justinia dead, she thought she could make her move.”

Ellana took a breath. One crisis at a time. “I want to know what the Grand Cleric planned here,” she said.

Leliana replied, “She sent Natalie here to see what Justinia was hiding, no?”

Finally, Sister Natalie spoke: “The Inquisition has turned Thedas away from the true Chantry. It must be stopped.” She sounded mildly panicked, but firm in her belief.

“Stop us?” Leliana said. “You must be joking.”

“Mother Victoire is well loved by many. The Inquisition has more enemies than you know,” Sister Natalie said.

“And Victoire thinks she can ally with them?” Leliana asked, and Ellana could all but see the wheels turning in Leliana’s head. She knew, in a flash of insight, that Leliana would kill Sister Natalie, and then she would roust Grand Cleric Victoire and her followers in a bloody coup — whether with the Inquisition, or all on her own. And Ellana knew, as surely as she knew her own heartbeat, that whether or not Leliana succeeded, this course of events would forever set her on a path into deeper and bleaker darkness.

Unless Ellana could turn her from it before she took another step down it.

Stepping closer to the two women, Ellana addressed Sister Natalie. “We don’t have to be at odds, Natalie. You could come with us. Join the Inquisition.”

“I was called to serve the Grand Cleric,” Natalie said. “I will not betray her.” To Leliana, she said, “Kill me then. I’m not afraid to die for my beliefs. At least I still know what I believe.”

A little desperately, Ellana said, “Release her, Leliana. She is no threat.”

Leliana was shaking her head. “The Grand Cleric…”

“She is one woman. We are the Inquisition.” Ellana spoke with as much authority as she could manage. It would have to be enough. It would _have_ to be enough….

After an interminable moment of hesitation, frozen in a murderous tableau, Leliana pulled back her knife and released Natalie. “The Inquisitor has spoken. Run,” she said contemptuously. “Tell your mistress that she has a choice. The Inquisition is coming.”

Natalie bowed her head, then hurried off, vanishing down a side hallway. 

Ellana met Leliana’s eyes. Before Ellana could step forward — she was unsure whether she intended to merely ask if Leliana was all right, or to embrace her, comfort her — Leliana broke eye contact and strode toward the hidden chamber.

Ellana followed Leliana, who reached eagerly for the ornate box on the platform. She took it carefully in her gloved hands and gently removed the lid to peer inside. Her eyes widened. “No...! This can’t be it. There’s nothing here!”

Ellana stepped close and put her hand on Leliana’s shoulder. She could feel the other woman’s tension even through her armour and cloak. “Leliana….” Ellana glanced down at the box that Leliana held. It was an ornate affair, richly enamelled with gilded scroll flourishes, golden feet and a golden crown. Ellana saw that the inside was likewise enamelled, made to be as lovely as the exterior… and she saw something else. She gently reached around, taking Leliana’s hand which held the lid and carefully turning it so that the underside was visible. “It’s not what you expected,” Ellana said softly. “That doesn’t mean it’s nothing.”

“There’s a message written here,” Leliana said wonderingly. She read aloud the delicate scrolled words that had been painted onto the enamel of the lid’s underside: “‘The Left Hand should lay down her burden.’” 

Ellana released Leliana’s hand, and walked around to stand face-to-face with her. 

“She… she’s releasing me,” Leliana said, her voice throbbing with emotion. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “The Divine has a long reach, but it is always her Left Hand that stretches out. A thousand lies. A thousand deaths. Her commands, but my conscience that bore the consequences.”

Ellana watched her cautiously. “You know Justinia apologized in the Fade,” she said. “She said she failed you. You did not believe it, but, I think, Leliana… this is what she meant.”

Leliana carefully put the lid onto the box, then held it with both hands as though it was infinitely precious. “All this time, Justinia carried the fear that she was using me, just like I’d been used in the past. But Marjolaine’s games were trifles. Justinia gambled with the fate of nations. She needed me. No one else could have done what I did. She knows that.” Leliana sounded hollow, lonely, and strangely young as she said this.

“Then you have to let it go,” Ellana said, distressed. “Let her go. You don’t owe her anything anymore.”

Leliana looked up, meeting her eyes. She did not smile, not quite, but her expression radiated contentment nonetheless. “If it were not for you, I would’ve killed Natalie can called it a good thing.” Now Leliana did smile, dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Thank you for showing me what was right when I couldn’t see it for myself.” Leliana tucked the box under her arm, and walked past Ellana into the sanctuary. Over her shoulder, she said, “There are more things that must be said, Ellana, many more… but not here. Not yet. I need some time alone to consider all that has happened. You should return to Skyhold — I will see you there soon.” Then she walked quickly back through the sanctuary, into the entry hall, and away, leaving Ellana alone with the candles flickering all around her.

The journey back to Skyhold was as straightforward as the journey out. As Ellana had expected, Leliana was not returned to Skyhold when she herself arrived. It was nearly impossible not to fret about the spymaster, but there was no real reason for concern — Leliana needed some time to reflect on what had happened, and would return to her post when she was ready.

In the meantime, the Inquisition carried on, and Ellana was needed for all the usual things. She attended the War Table meetings with Cullen and Josephine. She spent time consulting on alliances and endorsements, on budgeting and provisioning, on military actions and movements, on judiciary matters. In her free time, she drifted through Skyhold, unseen, watching people… though she did not go into the rookery. 

Several days passed. Then Leliana appeared at the War Table one afternoon. Ellana pulled up short, seeing her at the table with Josephine and Cullen. But as neither Leliana nor the other advisors said anything about the spymaster’s return, Ellana also did not remark on it beyond greeting Leliana before they got to work.

Ellana was distracted for the rest of the day, tossed between happiness at Leliana’s return, frustration that she had not come to report to Ellana as soon as she arrived, relief at her safety, and an exquisite agitation that Ellana was honest enough to admit stemmed from her helpless attraction and her irrepressible hope of it being returned. Of course she was going to the rookery tonight, bearing a bottle of wine. She spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about the anticipated encounter with Leliana, how they would sip wine and speak of what Leliana had learned about herself, and then perhaps Ellana would embrace Leliana, to comfort her, and slip her hood down to touch her lovely face…. It was absolutely ludicrous. Ellana also tried to remind herself that Leliana might well not be in the rookery this evening… or she might be tired, or not interested in conversation… or she might even tell Ellana to leave off with her faltering, plausibly-deniable courtship. Which didn’t bear thinking about, really.

Ellana took the time to bathe properly after she’d had her evening meal, and change into some of her nicer clothing, and smooth her hair with a little fragrant oil. She felt elated; she felt inordinately nervous; she couldn’t wait to see Leliana again. The wine and tumblers went into her satchel, and she began the walk up, up to where Leliana was.

In the rookery, Leliana was at her writing desk. Ellana spotted the box from Valence on the desk. She nearly took one of her accustomed spots, away from where Leliana sat, since one of the spymaster’s agents was speaking to her…. But then Ellana changed her mind, and walked up to the desk.

The agent was saying to Leliana, “I’m told that Ambassador Montilyet is pleased with the… restraint you showed in Valence.”

Leliana actually rolled her eyes a little. “Ugh,” she said, though there was no true irritation in the noise. “She’s positively beside herself. I will never hear the end of it. ‘Niceness before knives, Leliana! Haven’t I always told you?’” she said, her light and lilting voice adopting the ambassador’s Antivan accent.

The agent seemed as amused as Ellana, and they exchanged brief grins. Then he turned to Leliana. “Will that be all, my lady?”

“For now.”

The agent nodded, gave a quick bow to Ellana, then left.

Ellana walked around the desk. “How have you been feeling since Valence?” she asked.

“Good. Wonderful,” Leliana said, her voice warm. “Valence was something of a rebirth for me. If you hadn’t been with me, I would have killed Natalie. I’d have told you that I didn’t have a choice, but there is always a choice.” Leliana glanced at the box, touching it with a gloved hand. “I am more than this. I am more than what Justinia made me.”

It was an opening. Ellana saw it, and… still too unsure of whether Leliana returned her affections, whether her own attraction was at all welcome, she shied away from it. She asked, abruptly, “What does that mean for my Inquisition? Will you still be my spymaster?” Even what Ellana had thought an impersonal question made her heart give a small, painful twist. It hurt to think of Leliana leaving the Inquisition, returning to her house to raise nugs… but… if it would make her happy….

“Of course,” Leliana replied. “I would not give up my post, not after everything we’ve built. I just know now that I shouldn’t ignore my heart.” Ellana’s own heart leapt, to hear this. “Mercy is not always a weakness,” Leliana went on, glancing up at Ellana.

“No, it is not,” Ellana said thoughtfully. “I would hate to think that you truly believed that. Do you resent Justinia for what she did?”

“How can I when there is so much between us, when she gave her life for peace?” Leliana asked serenely. “No, I believe her intentions were pure. Most intentions are.”

“You’ve exceeded her,” Ellana said, and meant it. “She could never have imagined the influence you now hold, or how many people look up to you… and admire you.”

“And now I will know how to use those powers wisely. I have to stay true to who I really am — before a spymaster, Left Hand, or bard. I almost lost myself,” Leliana said, and they both looked at the box as it sat on her desk. “But you helped me find myself,” she went on, glancing up at Ellana. Something in Leliana’s expression made Ellana’s breath hitch. “When I have wanted to lose myself in darkness and despair, you have called me to walk in the light, no matter how hard it felt. When I thought to make myself solitary and apart from other people, you sought me out. You _saw_ me.” Leliana took a step closer to Ellana. “No matter how I hide, or how I seek to mislead you about myself… you see me. All of me, the light and the darkness. The roles I play. And… what is underneath them.” Leliana’s voice had gotten very quiet; she spoke as though she was uttering some deep and sacred secret.

Which, Ellana supposed, was precisely what she was doing. She felt as though her heart was singing, was lighting up her entire being with love and sweet fondness for this resilient, flawed, dangerous, contradictory, magnificent woman. She swallowed around a lump of emotion in her throat. “Leliana…” she began.

Silence hung between them, as tense and full of potential as a drawn bowstring, for a moment. Then Leliana closed the space between them, and leaned in so that she could whisper in Ellana’s ear. “Come. I want to show you something.”

Ellana felt melting desire pulse through her at the sensation of Leliana’s soft cheek against hers, the warmth of her breath on Ellana’s ear. Leliana twined her arm through Ellana’s and gently led her toward a far corner of the rookery, a disused space with no furniture, few torches, and a persistent draft (despite there being no windows nearby). Ellana was perplexed — there was nothing here, that she could see.

Leliana turned and gave Ellana a brief, conspiratorial smile, then relinquished her arm. She turned to the nearest wooden post, identical to the many other wooden posts that supported the ceiling in the rookery. With a quick jump, Leliana silently hoisted herself up to the joists that branched out from the post near the ceiling. She braced herself, leaned over, and lifted up a trapdoor in the ceiling that had been camouflaged to near-invisibility in the shadows. Then, with catlike grace, she rose from the joists and pulled herself up into the space beyond the trapdoor. Ellana gazed after her, bemused. Then Leliana’s head, with the hood drawn back, peeked back down at her, her smile visible despite the darkness. “Won’t you join me?” she asked, her tone playful. 

Ellana removed her satchel, which held the bottle of port and tumblers, and stretched to hand it up to Leliana, who reached down to take it. Then Ellana, perhaps with less grace than Leliana, clambered up the post to the joists, then up through the trapdoor.

She found herself in a room tucked up under the rafters of the keep’s roof. Unlike other places directly under Skyhold’s roofs, this space had plaster-and-wood covering the stone walls and the underside of the tiled roof, making it surprisingly cozy. A number of smallish windows were set into the angled ceiling, and stars were visible through them.

Leliana was lighting several oil-lamps, which she placed about the room. This was evidently where Leliana slept… where she had her own personal space. There were a few pieces of furniture — a table and two chairs (where Ellana’s satchel had been deposited), a trunk, a small clothespress, a simple bed covered in quilts, shelves displaying various items. Ellana spotted a sewn fabric nug doll… a bouquet of carefully dried roses in a vase… a small likeness of Andraste in a makeshift altar, with several half-burned candles around it… three pairs of exquisitely embroidered dancing slippers….

She turned to Leliana, who had been watching her look around. Leliana still had her hood thrown back, and had also removed her gloves… and her chain mail jerkin and leather epaulettes. She was smiling at Ellana in a way that was somehow both shy and bold at once. Bare-headed, bare-handed, unarmoured, here in her secret safe place, lit by the lamplight’s glow, Ellana thought Leliana could not possibly look more beautiful.

With some difficulty, Ellana found her voice. “Thank you,” she said, hoping that Leliana would understand how grateful she was to be invited into this space.

Leliana’s smile widened — those enchanting dimples appeared — and she stepped toward the table. “Come,” she said. “I’d like to try this wine you’ve brought. If I’m not mistaken, it’s from a valley, not far from Lothering, where… I spent some time, when I was younger,” she said, examining the label.

“Oh?” Ellana said, taking one of the chairs. Her heart thudded in thrilled anticipation.

They sat, talking and sipping the port, for what felt like a long time… yet it also flew by, Ellana thought. She could hardly remember feeling so contended. Leliana spoke of her days adventuring with the Hero of Ferelden. She hinted at the long-felt impact of her prior years, training and then practicing as a bard, and being drawn into Marjolaine’s web. Ellana had heard fragments of these experiences before, through rumour, through conversation with Josephine, or through offhand remarks from Leliana herself. And even now, it was obvious that there were some things from this period of her history that Leliana did not wish to speak of… or perhaps, not yet. Even with such elisions, Ellana felt deeply honoured to hear it It was a precious gift, this trust, Leliana telling her these parts of her story. Ellana mostly listened, rapt, to everything Leliana told her.

Although Ellana certainly paid attention to what Leliana said, she was also always, always aware of the other woman’s physicality… her bare hands as she gestured, or lifted her tumbler to drink… the warm glint of lamplight on her hair… her smile, her lips as she sipped the wine… her eyes, her freckles, her shoulders, her _everything_. At one point, when Leliana grew emotional, speaking of one of her erstwhile companions who had been killed through Marjolaine’s treachery, Ellana reached out almost without thinking to take Leliana’s free hand where it rested on the table. Leliana immediately shifted her hand so that she could grip Ellana’s hand in return, palm to palm.

Eventually, Leliana fell silent. Their tumblers had been empty for some time. They sat, comfortable and quiet, Ellana’s thumb gently stroking the freckled back of Leliana’s hand. 

Leliana raised her eyes to meet Ellana’s gaze. “It’s really astonishing, you know. I feel so comfortable talking to you. Like I could say anything and you wouldn’t judge me. I have’t felt this close to anyone in… a long time.”

Ellana squeezed Leliana’s hand and offered a small smile. “Nor I. I… I am so very happy to be with you, now,” she said shyly. “To be… close.”

Leliana made a soft humming sound, then rose from her chair, not letting go of Ellana’s hand. A little taken aback, Ellana also stood. Was she about to be asked to leave?

But it seemed Leliana had other plans, for she stepped forward and closed the distance between them. She clasped Ellana’s shoulder with her free hand, pulling them even closer together. Before Ellana could react in any way, Leliana was kissing Ellana, _oh_ , and her lips were so exquisitely soft, warm, moving against Ellana’s mouth delicately and deliberately. 

Ellana gasped, a soft intake of air through her nose, and tried to calm her galloping heart, tried to savour every sensation. She wished to be gentle, slow, to not take more than was being offered. But, _Creators_ , it had been so long since she had touched another person in desire, and her longing for Leliana, _oh, Leliana_ , had been growing and blossoming for so long, that it was not easy to hold back.

Fortunately for Ellana’s plight, Leliana seemed perfectly happy to ask for more, with her mouth, her hands, her body…. She slid her hand around Ellana’s shoulder, pulling her even closer, and opened her lips into their kisses, deepening them. Ellana’s hands went around Leliana’s waist, gently, thrilling at the surprising softness of her body, the curve of her hips, the small motions she made, as though she wished to close every space between their bodies.

And then Leliana’s hands were at Ellana’s belt, unbuckling and removing it, then unbuttoning her jacket and sliding it off her shoulders. Ellana took advantage of this movement, dipping her head to kiss along Leliana’s cheeks, her jaw, the warm crook of her neck. Leliana did not make any vocal noises, but her breath hitched appealingly whenever Ellana’s lips found a sensitive spot, her body curving more urgently into Ellana’s. The scent, the taste of her skin, was intoxicating, and Ellana’s head spun.

Soon Leliana had divested Ellana of her jacket and shirt, leaving her in her linen shift, with her trousers half-falling off her hips with no belt to secure them. Leliana slid her hands under the shift, stroking Ellana’s flanks, kissing her deeply. Ellana groaned, the sound muffled; desire flashed through her body like sheet lightning, the heat of it pooling between her legs, pulsing. Her hands fumbled at the ties on Leliana’s garments, but the angle was wrong and she was, at any rate, extremely distracted….

Without breaking their kissing, Leliana guided Ellana toward the bed. Ellana somehow managed to kick off her boots and stockings, and the trousers which had hobbled her, so that when the backs of her legs hit the bed frame she was clad only in her shift and smallclothes. Leliana gave her a gentle push, encouraging Ellana to fall back onto the bed. Then Leliana followed her, positioning herself on top of Ellana, one slim leg pushing between Ellana’s thighs, bracing herself on one elbow while her free hand slipped under Ellana’s shift, stroked further up her ribs….

Leliana’s kisses were exhilarating. Her lips and her tongue never stilled entirely, moving now fast and urgent, now slow and sensual, a dance more intimate and thrilling even than Ellana’s fantasies. When Leliana’s hand slid up to cup one of Ellana’s breasts, to slip her fingers, strong and sure, over Ellana’s nipple, a flare of desire erupted in Ellana and she found her hips moved of their own accord, stroking herself helplessly against Leliana’s thigh. She clutched desperately at Leliana’s back, holding the other woman tightly, undulating and rocking. Leliana pressed her leg down encouragingly, kept stroking her fingers over Ellana’s breast, kissed her ear. “My darling one… you are extraordinary like this, you are a delight. Mmmmm. I want you to come for me, darling, please, come for me….”

Regardless of prior thoughts about reciprocating these attentions, about removing some of Leliana’s clothing, or about just making an attempt to present herself as a somewhat sophisticated and experienced lover… regardless of all that, this was more than Ellana could resist, and she came ferociously, grinding against Leliana’s leg, clinging to her waist, making truly unattractive noises as she rode out the crest of her pleasure. When she came to herself again, lying back on the pillow, sweat cooling on her brow, she found Leliana gazing at her fondly, brushing a lock of her back from her face and then leaning forward to kiss her tenderly.

Ellana had no sooner caught her breath than her passion roused itself once more. She moved her hands on Leliana’s back with more purpose, pushing up the fabric of her shirt, touching the skin of the small of her back. She deepened their kisses, sighing happily. She rolled her hips, pushing up to press between Leliana’s legs, and contorted her body a little, trying to get her hands between their torsos so that she could begin removing Leliana’s clothing, to give her pleasure, to touch her and be perfectly close against her.

But as she kissed Leliana, and moved against her passionately, Leliana had gone still. She was not resisting, but…. Ellana immediately stilled her own body and suppressed her fervour, moving her hands out from under Leliana’s clothes and resting them comfortingly on Leliana’s covered hips, laying back on the pillow, looking at Leliana inquiringly.

Leliana was breathing deeply, but not, Ellana thought, out of desire or excitement. She raised one hand to gently cup Leliana’s cheek. “What is it, _ma vehnan?_ ” she asked softly. Some part of her mind constricted with fear that Leliana was unhappy, with Ellana or with her body or with her sexual performance, but Ellana pushed this thought firmly down — if Leliana was troubled, regardless of the reason, now was not the time to give in to her own insecurities.

“I am sorry,” Leliana said, her voice quiet and tense. “I… Ellana, I want this,” she said, closing her eyes. She leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. Ellana stroked Leliana’s hips, soothing, and waited. “I want this,” Leliana repeated. “I don’t know why — I did not think that — I have not….” She fell silent, trembling almost imperceptibly.

“Ah, _vhenan_ ,” Ellana murmured. She shifted their bodies so that they were lying side by side, facing one another, her arm draped over Leliana’s unresisting form. She ducked her head forward to press soft kisses to Leliana’s brow, to her eyelashes which shimmered with the hint of unshed tears, to her cheeks, to her lips. “Leliana,” she said, the name almost a benediction. The other woman’s eyes opened to gaze at Ellana, her expression as vulnerable and beautiful as a new flower. “Leliana, you are everything I want, everything I desire. This, what we have shared, is everything I could ever want. I want nothing more than what you wish to give, freely and eagerly. And… I want time. I want time with you, so that if there is more that you would like to give, eventually, we will be able to come to a place where you can give it.” She leaned in again to kiss Leliana. “And, my very dear, please know that what you give is enough, always enough, more than enough. No matter what changes, whether it is more or less than what has come before, it will be enough.”

They lay for several minutes, breathing together. Then Leliana said, “I trust you… I feel safe with you. As though… as though you would never betray me.” Leliana’s tone was almost one of astonishment.

Ellana pulled their bodies closer together in an embrace, comforting herself as much as Leliana. She breathed in the warm scent of Leliana’s skin, then said, “I would sooner bleed out my own heart’s blood than forsake you,” her voice rough with emotion.

“Even though I.…” Leliana did not finish her sentence.

Ellana kissed Leliana’s ear, then murmured into it, “My love is not conditional. And you have long had my love, Leliana. And you will have it, and my affection, and my respect, no matter what we do in bed.”

She felt Leliana’s body shake and pulled back to look at her, concerned, but Leliana was laughing lightly, not weeping. “I am sorry,” she said, smiling, “it is just… I did not expect this. My… reluctance. And I certainly would not have expected your response to it. You are truly extraordinary,” she said, her hand snaking up between their bodies to touch Ellana’s jaw and stroke over her lips. “I’ve no idea how you find me worthy of your love.”

“I could tell you,” Ellana said, smiling, kissing Leliana’s fingers as they played over her lips. “I could tell you again and again, as many times as you like.”

“I think I would like that very much,” Leliana said playfully. She leaned in to kiss Ellana’s mouth. “Provided we are all alone, of course. I must not have my fierce reputation in the Inquisition sullied by silly romantic talk,” she said, teasing.

“I would not dare,” Ellana replied, delighted. “Your fierce reputation is safe with me, I assure you… much as I wish to tell you all the ways I adore you.”

“I look forward to hearing them. But… perhaps another night,” Leliana said. “It is late.”

Ellana drew in a breath, then asked, “…Do you want me to leave? I would certainly understand.” She had shared beds and tents and even bedrolls with people, hunting for the clan or out on expedition with the Inquisition. But that was different. Sharing a bed with a lover, even chastely, was an intimate thing. Ellana was prepared for Leliana to affirm this boundary, was prepared to respect it.

But Leliana said, “I… I would not wish to tease you by sharing a bed, if I cannot — ”

“Leliana,” Ellana interrupted softly, her heart glowing with hope. “I would be very, very happy to lie with you tonight, to sleep and nothing more. To be beside you, to hold you, to hear your precious breath… I want that very much, if you will let me.”

Leliana gazed at her for a moment, then said, simply, “I trust you.” She pushed herself up from the bed and went around the room, snuffing out the lamps until only the faint starlight through the windows illuminated the space. Then, as Ellana watched, Leliana removed her sturdy overshirt, breeches, and boots. After the merest hesitation, Leliana unlaced and took off her chemise, pulled off her drawers and stockings, and was for one glorious moment entirely bare in the starlight. Ellana silently drank in her beauty, unmoving, barely breathing. Then Leliana took a long nightgown from her clothespress and pulled it quickly on.

Then Leliana returned to the bed, and several minutes of quiet negotiation of blankets, pillows, and positions ensued. They eventually settled with Ellana’s back to the wall, her arm draped over Leliana’s waist, and Leliana’s slim back pressed into Ellana’s chest. Their legs twined languidly together, and Ellana welcomed the shock of Leliana’s chilled toes pressing into her calves. The bed was not large, but once they settled as closely as they wished there was more than enough room.

Ellana drifted into sleep with the scent of Leliana’s hair in her nose, the warmth of her beautiful body seeping into hers, and a love thriving in her heart that was beyond anything she had ever hoped for.


End file.
